Der Schwan und der Ritter
by Little Blue Owl
Summary: They were so bitterly pure, so sweetly imperfect. Through sacrifice, tears, joy, and love, they were the soul mates of destiny and the creators of imagination.
1. Die Ente und der Autor

Disclaimer: I do not own Princess Tutu's plots, characters, or themes.

Die Ente und der Autor

She was a sweet girl, with simple means and freckled cheeks. So cheerful despite what she'd been through, and always there when you needed a smile or a laugh.

He was a noble boy, with elegant movements and a hard surface to coat what he was really like. So changed by the simple girl he knew, and helpful when you needed to find out something. Perhaps his stiff motions needed to be sandpapered slightly, but after those cold eyes was a warm heart.

Today they sat quietly by the harbor, he watching her every movements with a gentle gaze. She looked up at Fakir, her eyes swimming pools of blue, curious and caring, yet hurt at the same time.

Ahiru paddled softly across the wet plain, her yellow feathers curiously soft and smooth. Watching her so calm, but her feelings flowing from her head, Fakir finally found the right words inside of him, yet frustration he would have normally felt was dripping slowly away. He picked up his pen like he had once picked up his heavy sword, yet somehow this weapon had seemed more powerful.

Fakir looked down at the scribbles on the page. Her thoughts in black ink had spilled out of his mind and onto the sheets, turning a blank reality into a beautiful masterpiece. He wrote of how she wished to dance again, wished to talk again, wished to dream again. She had the most incredibly detailed thoughts, he pondered, for someone so silly and dumb.

Yet if he had really thought she was so silly and dumb, he wouldn't have stayed here by her side for this long, writing either by the lake or his house, or if on the odd occasion he felt social, by the coffee shop. Wherever he went she went; whatever she felt he felt. They were in simplest words inseparable.

The final word came to him, and his quickly swaying pen danced to an abrupt stop, lifted directly above where the last period would go.

Was he scared? Did he not want her to be a human again? Was he too used to his daily routine of Ahiru as a duck?

These were the same thoughts she had had when she had the final heart shard on her necklace, not yet ready to give it back to Mytho. She had cried on his shoulder then, not knowing what she wanted, not knowing what to do. He had told her to be herself, to not be scared to change the pattern, and now he told himself the same thing.

He wanted her back as much as a drying river died of thirst.

The ink made one final dark orb on the messy sheets. Fakir looked up to see Ahiru gently swimming around the pond as normal. She dipped her head under and played with the other little birds. Now he just had to give it some time.

He carefully watched her every motion for the next few hours, scarcely blinking and voices screaming inside his head. When the night had passed, he woke up to find the little duck snuggled up next to the story, to which she had apparently fallen asleep by while reading. Fakir didn't know if that meant it was boring or if she was just tired, but at least she now knew it was almost time.

"Duck," he whispered to her. The tiny animal lifted its head up in response, blinking its pools softly.

The rest of the day was spent with him telling her stories until around noon, when one of her feathers slowly dropped to the floor. Another followed it. Fakir stood, astonished that his writing might be coming true.

Ahiru quacked with joy one last time, her feathers slowly turning into hair and skin. When she was fully changed, she stood behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, for he had looked away for fear that she would be as she had been when formerly turning from a duck to a girl.

He turned around to see the silly child dressed in a beautiful ballet costume, a white and yellow short dress. She smiled at him and threw her arms around him.

"Fakir!" she yelled, laughing giddily. "Thank you so much."

He smiled and held his hands around her protectively. Uzura toddled into the room from the room from all the exclamation.

After a while Ahiru quietly spoke. "Umm, Fakir?"

"What is it?" he asked, overly concerned.

She blushed. "Did you know every feeling I had while I was a duck?"

His cheeks clouded up red in reply. "Idiot," he finally said. "Of course I did."

"Is Ahiru lovey-dovey with you, Zura?" Uzura's comment startled both the boy and girl into laughing, with red cheeks and denial in their mouths.

And there they stood, the duck and the writer, quietly smiling at each other in perfect joy.


	2. Der Junge und das Mädchen

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or plotline of Princess Tutu.

AN: This is the second of three chapters. Enjoy!

Der Junge und das Mädchen

The cobblestone paths turned their footsteps into small clicks, light and perfect. The girl walked with the boy, her fingers playing around in her knotted mess of red hair. They turned around the shops and the school and the houses, minds clear, free of problems.

A day well spent was a day walking, Ahiru pondered. Sometimes it was better to talk on those walks, but others the silence was comfortable. This was the latter circumstance, with a thoughtful quiet around the pair strolling down the way.

The sun was just slightly over the horizon, dipping at such an angle so that the light danced flamboyantly across the ponds and lakes. The clover green tree leaves made the scene so beautiful that it made Fakir wonder if somehow, somewhere, Drosselmeyer had planned this. To Ahiru it had no matter. It was beautiful and that was that.

They stopped just under the gazebo that so many a time had Mytho and Rue been here, dancing or fighting the other pair. After the conflict had been sorted out, it was just a place wiped clean of memories, open to a new future.

Ahiru walked ahead of Fakir and up the steps to the platform. Her red curls pulled back into a braid as usual, she looked just a little more mature than she had been when she was part of the story. Her face was thinned out and features more complex.

Fakir watched her gracefully plop down on the bottom and sigh lightly. Sometimes you needed to get the troubles out of you.

Fakir watched her for a moment, gazing at her beautiful white dress that Raetsel had made for her on her last visit. It was a simple cotton sundress, flowing and cheerful to match Ahiru's personality.

Fakir slowly stepped forward, not arousing Ahiru from her thoughts. He stepped up to the platform and sat down beside her.

"Something the matter?" Fakir asked.

"I'm just thinking," Ahiru replied, her voice still with the edge of childhood but now smoothing out the wrinkles.

"About what?" Fakir pressed on.

"I just miss Mytho and Rue, that's all."

"Idiot," Fakir said. He still enjoyed the way her eyes lit up with soft anger when he called her that. "You'll see them soon. Remember the letter they sent? We'll be able to see them in no time at all."

Ahiru smiled at the comforting words. They two sat together in silence for a while, until the midnight-haired boy spoke once more, in a gentle voice.

"I miss them too, you know."

Ahiru looked up to see his eyes grow dim as they faded into memories.

"Mytho was my best friend since I was a child. It's strange to have a day without seeing him."

Ahiru saw something of a difference in his eyes, something gentle and pure. She lightly rested her head on his shoulder and he stroked her sunny hair. It was all so beautiful.

Ahiru had lightly dozed off for a while and Fakir left her head rested where it fit perfectly in his shoulder. They sat in quiet peace until Fakir gently rubbed her shoulder to wake her.

Her orange hair reflected the sun's rays magnificently as it was slowly making its way up the sky. Fakir stood up and held out his hand to her, and she sleepily looked up at him.

"Come dance with me, Princess," he said, and she slowly rose to her feet. She smiled brightly, graciously accepting his offer.

She placed her hand in his and he led her into a sway and turn, a lift and spin. The backdrop made it a storybook scene, the couple dancing from their hearts, melting their worries and opening their feelings to let the other see.

When the dance came to a slow, Fakir pulled the girl into him slowly. She looked up into his enchanting eyes with a marble gaze.

He whispered softly in her ear, "I'd love to dance like this forever, Princess."

"Me too, my knight," she replied, feeling a warmth then light up her soul, getting rid of all the doubt and pain and sorrow.

And there they were, the boy and the girl, feeling so magical and trapped at the same time.


	3. Der Schwan und der Ritter

Disclaimer: I do not own Princess Tutu. I'd have to understand ballet for that, which would probably mean that I would be a ballerina. I wish.

Der Schwan und der Ritter

The first snow fell lightly over Kinkan early that year, which made Ahiru a cheerful little girl. Her freckled cheeks became rosy circles on her face, accenting her ocean-like eyes.

Ahiru walked slowly along the path across town, which was quietly and surprisingly empty. The cold seemed to have bit everyone else to the core, but she loved the way the cardinals gave a splash of red and the lakes gave a dash of blue in the white world.

The sky was a sea of white and blue, waves of clouds tumbling softly over each other. Her orange, feathery hair and green dress matched nicely with the blue and the white of the above plains. It was truly a magical scene, but the waves built up a strong much for a possible disaster, for snow was just rain with a cold touch.

Fakir took soft steps toward her, white flakes crunching softly under his feet. He watched as she sat down by the pond and traced her fingers along the smooth, glassy ice.

Her nails etched a drawing in the glass. Fakir leaned over behind a pine tree to catch a glimpse of the picture.

It was a heart shard, the final heart shard, with it's compartments and wings on the sides. She drew a small break in its side.

Fakir wondered what she was thinking. Did she miss being in the story? Having friends? Knowing what life held next?

Did she miss Mytho?

Fakir scolded himself for such envious thoughts. Ahiru wasn't his, and she could have whatever feelings she liked.

The young woman let a salty tear drop down from her red cheeks onto the picture. Her bun of red hair was messy and falling out as she silently let the tears fall.

She abruptly turned around to get back to Fakir's and warm up, but she quickly spotted the young man watching her from the green forest.

Fakir looked at her knowingly and she walked over to him.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, her voice smooth as silk but still high-pitched as it always had been.

"Just admiring the snow," Fakir lied, trying to put an explanation in for following the girl.

"But it's so cold," she reasoned.

"It's no matter to me."

They stood there with deep hearts for a moment, before Fakir took Ahiru's hand and let her to the buildings of town.

"Do you miss the story?" he asked her after a moment.

"No," Ahiru said, trying to mask her feelings

"What about your friends and ballet class? And being Princess Tutu?"

She was thoughtful for a moment.

"I don't think so," she said, her voice cracking and another rain drop calling down her cheek.

Fakir pulled her head close to his shoulder as the rain came down in buckets.

"What is going to happen to us? Are we just going to live our lives, then die? What are we supposed to do with nothing we're supposed to do?" Ahiru asked.

"I don't know, Princess. Maybe we could join Mytho and Rue someday, and live forever in freedom."

"Why did I have to lose everything to the story? The story kept my friends and dancing and... And..." Ahiru couldn't finish her sentence.

"Mytho?" Fakir guessed.

The tears stopped, and Ahiru looked up to Fakir. "Do you miss the story, too?"

Fakir though a moment. "Sometimes," he replied. "Sometimes it was nice to have thought I was useful and had a purpose. And to have just lived, and always had someone to care about me as a friend."

"You still do," Ahiru said.

Fakir kissed her forehead. "I do," he said. "But it just isn't the same."

The brown-stoned rooftops were picturesque all around them as the pair walked softly down the way, turning to head back home.

It was a sweet silence up until they were at the house, its wooden and stone walls cold and hard, but welcoming.

"The story didn't have all you had, Ahiru."

"What do you mean?" Ahiru looked into his eyes.

"We still have each other. And that's just enough."

Ahiru smiled, then rushed inside and got something. Fakir had a quick puzzled expression but was quickly rushed back to reality when Ahiru came back out again.

Her pointe shoes matched her now light blue dress. "Please, my knight," she said, "come dance with me."

Fakir took her hand lightly and they danced a pas de deux together.

They spun and swirled messily and beautifully, so bitterly pure and yet sweetly imperfect. The flakes started falling down lightly in their hair.

"Let's forget this story," Ahiru said. "Let's just be ourselves from now on."

"Let's." And the final act was a lift, led between the two in first tastes of freedom. They were no longer just characters of someone else, and their feelings were their own. Their love was their own.

And there they were, der schwan und der ritter, the swan and the knight, free from the story at last, the soul mates of destiny and the creators of imagination.

AN: This was my favorite chapter to write and to read. I just can't describe what this show is to me in words. So I hope you liked my story, and I've tons of other stuff to post, too, so review and follow dears! I will be posting more soon.


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